


yeah, there was probably a big red stop sign a ways back, and yeah, he missed it

by Ashling



Category: Fast & Furious (Movies), Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: Downplaying an Injury, M/M, Oh No Crush Intensifies, Triple EADrabble, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: Ah, shit.Well, this is happening, isn't it.
Relationships: Luke Hobbs/Deckard Shaw
Comments: 14
Kudos: 129
Collections: Writing Rainbow Make Up Round





	yeah, there was probably a big red stop sign a ways back, and yeah, he missed it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CorinaLannister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorinaLannister/gifts).



They'd turned the street into the usual panorama of ash, smoke, and bodies. To be fair, most of the bodies were alive, just unconscious or groaning faintly, but Deckard didn't care about the exact head count. The only person whose death would have bothered him was limping away down the street.

It wasn't that Deckard was getting old and needed to pant for breath just standing there. He couldn't be arsed to move. That was all.

"Hey," he called. "Where d'you think you're going?"

"Egypt," Hobbs yelled back over his shoulder. "Airport's this way."

"Egypt's gonna have to wait. Hospital's _this_ way."

"I might as well fly on without you if you're gonna be a wimp about it," said Hobbs, but he limped his way back until all rippling two hundred and sixty pounds of him was a foot away, America's sweetheart in the white tee and the death glare. He had his arms crossed, but it read as more petulant than threatening to Deckard, who knew him too well by now to be moved by that pose.

"What?" Hobbs snapped.

Deckard gestured, palm up, fingers curling. "Come here."

"Why?"

"For fuck's sake." He reached out, hooked two fingers in the belt loop of Hobbs's jeans, and yanked him closer. Then, with his free hand, he rucked up Hobbs's shirt and pressed his palm against Hobbs's ribcage, just above the hem of the jeans. Fingers splayed, pressure gentle and careful. They were both still sweating. It was July.

This time, when Deckard spoke, there wasn't any need for shouting. He did his best to keep his voice conversational. "When Polcino hit you with that cane, I heard a crunch. That was your ribs. And I'm pretty sure that if I punch you here, right now, hard, you're going to get a punctured lung."

It took Hobbs a second to respond, and during that time, Deckard kind of wished they'd both wiped out in the last car chase and the whole conversation had never happened, but he kept his hand where it was. Flinching wasn't a good policy. Probably the pause was a millisecond. It was nothing. Probably.

"That sounds like something you would do," Hobbs finally said, what felt like eons later. "But I'm fine."

"No, I'm taking you to the hospital, asshole. And if you don't come..." He let that pause develop, meaningfully, before he produced the platinum-plated threat at his disposal: "I'm calling Samantha."

Hobbs made a face. "That's playing dirty."

Deckard tried to stick to the normal cadence of how threats were supposed to play out. "Oh, you haven't seen me play dirty," he said, and maybe it was the fault of the smoke that his voice had turned to a growl. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" said Hobbs, all innocent, and Deckard knew he was in for it. When Hobbs was smiling like that, nothing good ever came of it. 

"Yeah." He tried to sound the hard man there, even though he knew damn well he'd lost the plot.

Hobbs took the tiniest step forward, pressing into Deckard's hand. It must have hurt him terribly, but his grin turned wolfish anyway.

"Promise?" Hobbs said. 

Deckard drew back his hand like he'd been burned. _Ah, fuck._

With great deliberation, Hobbs pulled his shirt back down. "Hospital it is," he said pleasantly, while his eyes said something like: _I knew if you hung around long enough, you were gonna fall for me. It's what you do, isn't it?_

Or, no, he was just taking the piss, and Deckard was being a paranoid bastard in one of the rare ways that _didn't_ help keep him alive. He settled for grumbling. "Why does everything have to be difficult with you?"

"Oh, I'm all peaches and cream, baby." Hobbs winked. "You'll see." Somehow, despite the limp, he managed to saunter as he went towards the hospital.

As Deckard set off beside him, he had a sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, that had been more than a joke.


End file.
